


If on a winter's night a traveller ...

by Masian (salable_mystic)



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-31
Updated: 2010-12-31
Packaged: 2017-10-14 06:54:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/146587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/salable_mystic/pseuds/Masian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Orlando’s in Idaho looking for the mysterious VPM. And then he encounters Vig… .</p>
            </blockquote>





	If on a winter's night a traveller ...

**Author's Note:**

  * For [laeglass](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=laeglass).



> This story was written for laeglass in the viggorli_xmas secret santa fic exchange over on livejournal.
> 
> Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, I don’t know any of the people involved for real. And it's an AU. And, you know, stuff... .

The sun was setting over the wild hills of Idaho, casting parts of the highway in shadow, and Orlando sighed. He’d been driving for what felt like hours today, in the rental car he’d picked up at Seattle Airport. He looked at the car clock and had to smile ruefully – it not only felt like hours, it had actually been hours. Eight of them, to be precise. He could have flown in to a closer airport, he knew that, but the London-Seattle flight had been a sweet deal, and he really could ill afford spending any unnecessary money.

 _Fairhaven Press_ might be all his own – unexpectedly come to him upon the death of his great-uncle Jonathan, at that – but just because he now owned a publishing house, it did not mean that money was plentiful. On the contrary. _Fairhaven Press_ was an eclectic publishing house that had always gone for quality over quantity, and for meaningful publications over market success, but that also meant that it was continually struggling for money. He wasn’t poor, precisely, but neither was he in any position to squander money unnecessary. He was getting by, and happy to be doing so – he loved _Fairhaven_ – he’d always done so, ever since he’d apprenticed at the press after finishing school, and he’d always agreed with the vision his uncle had for it.

Denice and Caroline – his great-uncle’s two children – apparently hadn’t, and had preferred passing over ownership of the press, rather than having to deal with dismantling or selling it – too much effort and too little reward, Caroline had airily told him, once he’d called her after getting the news about his great-uncle’s unexpected will. Apparently Jonathan had asked his children about their preferences, and they’d all agreed that Orlando was the best person to inherit the press.

And so here he was, gone from uninspired copyeditor at a commercial publishing house to being manager, editor, financial expert … to being everything and everyone at his very own publishing house, complete with office cat and geeky assistant. It was exciting – and a little terrifying. Inspiring. Challenging. Fascinating. And, as on days like today – sometimes really, really frustrating.

One of his more time-consuming undertakings during the recent months had been to get in touch with all the artists and authors that had ever published something with _Fairhaven_ , to update all the contracts and to discuss future projects. With most of them, this had not been a problem, as in the age of email and mobile phones details like these had been included in the contact records – but seeing that _Fairhaven_ was a niche publishing house, some of the artists tended to be a bit … on the eccentric side, sometimes, and not all of them appreciated the ease that inventions like computers and telephones brought to the modern world.

Orlando shook his head, exasperated and bemused whenever he thought about some of the convoluted attempts at conversation he had endured during the last couple of months. And the most eccentric one was waiting for him still – and was the reason why he found himself in Idaho in the first place.

Some of the most successful publications by _Fairhaven_ included a book series that mixed photographs, art and poetry created by the same artist, a mysterious individual that published only under the initials of V.P.M., and who preferred to communicate with the publishing house entirely via old-fashioned letters sent to a post box in Sandpoint, Idaho. And who would absolutely, under no conditions, sign any further contracts without having met the new owner of _Fairhaven_.

Usually, Orlando might not have bothered with such an eccentric artist, the months-long mail contact had been painful enough for that, but the books always sold well, and what was more, he _loved_ the books by VPM, loved the artist’s vision and take on the world, and thought that he could intuit a rare intelligence and wit behind the dry and acerbic communications that had winged his way from Idaho. They had certainly intrigued him enough that he’d finally decided to give in and fly to the US to meet his most eccentric author in person.

Now, though, he was more than half regretting his decision – it was just possible that December was not the best month of the year to be visiting Idaho. There was a rather substantial amount of snow on the ground, and while it was not snowing right now, a brisk wind was blowing and snow was drifting over the highway in white streaks. Traffic was thin, the sun was on its way to setting, and Orlando was not what he’d call an experienced driver on snow. In England, everything simply shut down once there was more than an inch of snow on the ground – and here it was far more than a mere inch.

He also thought that not renting a navigation system might have been a mistake – the route had seemed simple enough on the map, and the directions sent by the mysterious VPM had been precise, if short – “the post office is located at 204 N Fourth Ave, be there at 6pm and I will meet you for dinner” – and so he’d simply printed out a map of Sandpoint from Google Maps and considered it sufficient preparation.

But now he wasn’t so sure – getting to Idaho had taken a lot longer than he (or google maps) had expected, so he was running late. And the radio had been warning him about heavy snow falls that were expected in the evening for hours now. And he also had no way of reaching VPM, to let him know that he was going to just possibly not make it to their scheduled meeting on time, because, of course, he had no way of contacting the artist – except the post box in Sandpoint.

Orlando sighed, and decided that maybe speed limits in the United States were more of an advisory rather than a prohibitive nature, and that, possibly, there wasn’t _that much_ snow drifting over the street, after all.

\-----

He didn’t make it in time, of course. The snow had started falling again when he’d been about 90 miles out of Sandpoint, at which point he had already been running over an hour late, and then it had only gotten worse. The wind had picked up and the snow fall had gotten heavier and heavier, to a point where he’d been able to see maybe 10 meters ahead of himself when he reached the outskirts of Sandpoint, and felt like he was driving through a ghostly whiteness only sparingly penetrated by the headlights of the rental car. Trucks and other cars appeared out of the whiteness like ghostly shadows and disappeared the same way, and driving at anything over a crawling pace would have been foolhardy. It was close to 10pm when Orlando finally reached the post office.

It had long since closed, of course, and there was no-one waiting in front of it that he could see. He decided to stop nevertheless and pulled over and parked his rental car as best he could in the snow that had accumulated to the side of the road, and got out of the car, turning up his collar and cursing the fact that he had not thought to bring a hat or gloves with him. Well, at least he had put on sturdy boots, rather than the black leather shoes he usually wore.

He made his way slowly to the post office and stuffed his hands into his armpits, trying to stay warm as best he could. The streetlights shone through the falling snow, acquiring a white halo and luminescence, and the lonely cars that drove by also had halos surrounding them that changed from white to red as they passed. It was rather pretty, actually, he thought, even if rather cold and lonely.

Other than himself, there was no-one out on the street that he could see. But there was a fast-food joint on the corner that still seemed to be open, and so after considering for a second Orlando decided he might as well make his way there and get something to eat. He was starving, his body thought that it was well past the middle of the night, and if he was going to do any more driving tonight he’d best get some caffeine into his system, as well. So, he might as well boost his energy levels now and then set out and find a motel somewhere on the outskirts of town, and come back to the post office tomorrow. Maybe the mysterious VPM would take the weather into account and come looking for him tomorrow. If not, Orlando decided that he’d just drop a note with his cell phone number into the post box and wait around. Nothing else he could do. But for now, food, coffee, and then a bed somewhere seemed like the most sensible plan.

\-----

When Orlando got back to his car a good hour later – he’d dozed off in the warmth of the burger joint, made drowsy by the food and the surprisingly comfortable fake-leather bench he’d sat on - he wasn’t so sure about the brilliancy of his plan any more. His car had disappeared under a rather substantial layer of snow, for one, and the roads seemed to be in even worse condition than they had been an hour earlier. He cursed under his breath and dug his hands out of the reasonably warm pockets of his coat and half-heartedly started pushing the snow off his rental car.

He’d been at it for about thirty seconds – and his hands were already freezing and achy from the cold – when he was interrupted by a warm and wry voice that came from somewhere behind him: “Want a hand with that?”

Orlando turned to see who had addressed him, and beheld a man dressed sensibly in cold weather gear – warm winter coat, boots, gloves, a scarf and hat – all things that Orlando lacked, and all things that made it kind of hard to make out anything about the person standing about a meter away from him. He thought that he could make out an amused smile and blue eyes, but that was about all. Still, best not to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“I’d love some help, thank you very much.” Orlando replied.

The smile on the other man’s face grew wider, “Not from around here, are you? And definitely not expecting weather like this, eh?”

Orlando felt his lips twitch up into a smile as well, despite the cold and the sheer inconvenience of the situation. “Indeed not. And I don’t know what I was expecting winter in Idaho to be like, but it definitely wasn’t anything like this.”

The man shrugged, “Well, we do get some cold weather around here, though its usually not quite this intense. I’ve got a small hand broom in the truck, though, that I use to brush snow off of it in the winter, let me go and get that for you.”

\-----

Five minutes later, Orlando’s car had been successfully cleared of snow, and he was feeling much more cheerful … if no less cold. The man, he’d learned, was called Vig, and had a ranch outside of Sandpoint that included some guest rooms and cabins that the previous owners had rented out when they used to run a B&B from the property, and that he still rented out to the odd tourist or short-term contract worker, albeit much more infrequently than the previous owners used to.

“It’s not listed anywhere any more, you see, so it doesn’t really get booked in advance – I prefer my life not to be tied down by pre-arranged bookings and appointments made months in advance – I don’t really know if I’ll be there or not that far ahead, you know? But the sign’s up on the road while I am home, and if I like the look of the people that come by I’m happy to put them up – otherwise I just pretend it’s all booked out.” He’d grinned mischievously as he added that last bit of information and Orlando could not help, once again, to smile back, even as he wondered at this unorthodox way of running a B&B.

The guy seemed a bit weird, but friendly enough, and there was something about him that made Orlando want to trust him, even though they’d only met a scant ten minutes ago. He was usually pretty good at judging people, and he sincerely hoped that his talent for it would not desert him now, because if it did then he would be stuck on some lonely snowed-in farm in Idaho with a potential axe-murdered. Still, somehow he didn’t think that was going to be the case… .

“So, since we’ve met … how’d you feel about renting a room out to me for a couple of days?”

Vig gave the car a final pat on the now cleared bonnet and smiled, “It would be a pleasure, Orlando. My truck’s parked round the corner – want to follow me back? I promise to drive slowly, so you don’t get lost.”

Orlando grinned. “It’s a deal.”

\-----

The way to Vig’s farm had been long and treacherous – the snow kept falling and the further they got away from the center of Sandpoint, the more snow-logged the roads had become. Vig was doing alright in his four-wheel truck, but Orlando’s shiny rental car had barely managed the last stretch of road, and he’d feared that he’d gotten it stuck in a snow-drift more than once. Still, they made it, in the end, and he was very grateful indeed when Vig waved him into a large and mostly empty barn and he was able to park the car out of the snow. There was a tractor parked in the garage, and what looked like a small boat covered by a tarp, but other than that is was mostly empty. Orlando could make out some stacked balls of straw in a corner, and what possibly amounted to a hey loft, but it was too dark inside to notice much, really, and he was kind of busy parking in the space Vig waved him into, so he didn’t give the barn more than a cursory glance or two.

The house was nice, if a bit cluttered around the corners, and not really big. Vig quickly showed him around the downstairs – kitchen, lounge, dining room, guest bathroom, hallway, mudroom – and explained “You’re my only houseguest right now, so things aren’t as organized as they’d otherwise be … feel free to poke around the fridge if you get hungry, just let me know what you took so I can replace it when I next go to town. Do you need dinner? No? Ok. I’ll make breakfast for you tomorrow morning … let me show you around the guest rooms upstairs and then you can pick the one you like best and we can talk about prices … .”

Vig took Orlando’s bag and carried it up a curved wooden staircase that branched off from the hallway. The upstairs consisted off three guest bedrooms, all of them equipped with ensuite facilities, and some other doors that Vig casually called “my room, my office, stuff like that … though my main office is in the loft space over the barn, really”.

Orlando picked one of the rooms pretty much at random, and after quickly talking about pricing he was ever so glad to be able to shut the door behind himself and to head towards the shower and then the bed – he’d been up for more hours than he cared to think about, had no idea what time his internal clock thought it was, and the heavy down comforter on the firm mattress looked ever so comfortable and inviting … .

\-----

When Orlando woke up it was still dark out, and he groaned and closed his eyes again, tried to roll over and go back to sleep. The alarm clock on the nightstand told him that it was a little before six in the morning, so going back to sleep would definitely be the sensible plan, but he could not. He was awake, and he was ravenously hungry. “Stupid jetlag,” he grumbled to himself and finally gave up and rolled out of bed, shivering as the cold air hit his sleep-warm skin. He quickly dug some clean clothes out of his suitcase and made his way downstairs, planning to take Vig up on the generous offer of rooting around the fridge.

But when he made it to the kitchen he found that such unorthodox methods were not necessary after all. The gentle aroma of coffee was wafting through the hallway, and the other man was already there, doing something arcane with eggs and bell peppers at the stove that smelled absolutely divine. The room was bathed in warm yellow light, and Orlando yawned and scratched his stomach absentmindedly as he made is way into the room. “Good morning!”

Vig turned from the stove and smiled at him with his warm blue eyes and bright white teeth, and Orlando felt a fluttering in his stomach that had nothing to do with his hunger at all.

“Good morning. You’re up early. Jetlag, huh?”

“Yeah. Could say the same about you, though, and you don’t have intercontinental time zones for an excuse. Do you have to go to work?”

Vig shook his head, “Nah, I’m working from home today, what with the snow and all. Got up to feed the horses and to see what the snow was like outside.”

Orlando spared a brief glance for the window. Yep, it was still snowing. Oh joy.

“The horses?”

“Yep, I keep a couple of horses around here, they’re in the stables on the other side of the barn – I can show them to you later if you’d like?”

Orlando nodded. “That’d be great.”

Vig smiled again, evidently pleased with his answer. “Right. We’ll do that then. But for now – breakfast? How do you take your coffee? And how’d you like your eggs?”

\-----

Breakfast was lovely, and they talked easily throughout the meal. Orlando learned that Vig was a bit of the jack-of-all-trades of Sandpoint, who wrote articles for the local paper, worked in a local charity shop and took photographs at local events, and also looked after peoples’ farms and animals when they were gone, with the occasional B&B visitors on the side. Orlando revealed in turn that he was in Sandpoint to meet a business contact, but that the inclement weather had kept him from keeping the appointment.

They went to see the horses after, and their easy conversation continued all the way through the time they spent in the stables, where Vig introducted Orlando to the six horses that made their home on his farm. Orlando had never brushed and curried a horse before in his life, but he was not averse to learning, and when Vig made a joking reference that Orlando might work for part of his rent, he took him up on the offer, much to the other man’s surprise.

“I was only joking, you realize that, right?”

Orlando had to laugh at the half-confused, half-scandalized look on Vig’s face. “Of course I realize. Still, there’s not much else to do, right? And it might be fun, and it’d help you out, and … .”

Vig held his hands up in surrender, laughing. “All right, all right. But don’t you have any plans for the day? I mean, there must be a reason you came to Sandpoint, and you mentioned a business meeting … .”

Orlando shrugged, “I’ll have to head back into town later today and drop off a letter, but until I hear back from my contact all I can do is wait, really – do some work, if there’s an internet café in the city that I can use to download my mail and stuff… .”

Vig gave him a brief, assessing look – “How about this, then – you help me with the horses and in exchange for that I give you access to the house wireless? That’d save you the trek to the internet café and make you more flexible in your dealings.”

Orlando nodded, relieved. “That’d be fantastic! That way I could check in a couple of times a day and keep a closer watch on all my projects.” He frowned. “I’ll still need to head into town at some point, though, to get some local business taken care of.”

Vig shrugged, “I need to go check in at the charity shop as well, and do some shopping – how about I take you into town later, once we’re done here and I’ve had some time to check things from my office, and you’ve dealt with your email? The truck’s got a four-wheel drive, might be safer to leave your rental car here, if that snow continues to come down… .”

Orlando laughed. “Sounds like a plan to me.” He rubbed his hands together. “Now then. Show me how to clean up a horse.”

Vig shook his head, but could not suppress the amused smile Orlando had been hoping for.

“Well, for starters, the technical term is ‘to curry’ a horse, and it involves the use of a currycomb and a card …”

He picked up the two items in question from a box at the side of one of the stall doors and motioned Orlando over. “Here, let me show you how to do it. We’ll start with Nelly – she likes being groomed, so she won’t mind you making mistakes.”

Orlando stepped close to Vig, secretly pleased with the closeness that the exercise afforded. Vig was an intriguing and attractive man, and Orlando was not blind to the sex appeal that surrounded the other man. He’d not had a relationship with anyone in a long time, and he would not be averse to getting to know this intriguing man a little better, should things work out that way and their easy chemistry continue to build. So, if he acted a little clumsier than he usually was and checked in with Vig a little more often than necessary to see if he was doing things correctly, no harm done. On the contrary. The feeling of Vig’s hands on his arms as he guided him through the motions was definitely something to be savoured.

\-----

Vig dropped Orlando off at the post office in town and explained the short walk to the charity shop to him. It had stopped snowing, and the sun was peeking out between high white fluffy clouds, and the day was shaping up to be cold, but lovely. It was three weeks before Christmas, and the streets and windows of Sandpoint were decorated with seasonal garlands and lights. The town looked lovely today, and Orlando did not mind walking around and browsing – Vig had lent him gloves and a hat, and so he was much better equipped to face the cold, even if considerably less stylish. Still, he would take warm hands and ears over looking good any time.

He wrote a short note, explaining the reasons for his delay and adding his mobile number and the fact that he would be staying around for a few days, hoping for a re-scheduled meeting, and dropped the note into the post box he’d sent so many letters to over the last couple of months. He’d been half-hopeful to find out the name of his most elusive author this way, but was disappointed – all the post box yielded was the number “201” – and he’d know this fact ever since he’d first sent a letter to “VPM.” – _VPM, PO Box 201, Sandpoint, Idaho 83864, United States of America_.

Orlando briefly thought about inquiring with one of the post office clerks about VPM, but decided that he’d not quite reached that level of desperation yet.

Orlando quickly learned that the city center of Sandpoint was decidedly on the small side, so it didn’t take him long to head over to the charity shop were Vig worked. He found the older man stacking jeans onto a display counter, and chatting to an old, white-haired woman who managed the till. Two teenagers were browsing through the book section of the small store, but otherwise it was quiet inside.

Vig smiled at him as he entered the store, and asked: “All finished with your business?”

Orlando nodded. “Yes. And Sandpoint is tiny!”

Vig and the woman behind the till both chucked at this. “Indeed it is. There’re about 7’000 inhabitants here, give or take. We’re small, but it’s a nice place, and the people are great.”

The woman behind the till nodded at this. “Indeed. Just take this young man here – always willing to come around and help out, even though we all know he’s busy with other things.”

It took Orlando a moment to realize that the woman was talking about Vig, but once he did, he smiled.

“Now, Majorie, you know I’m always happy to help.” Vig said repressively.

She smiled at him. “I know you are. And we all like you for it. But now you really should be off – there’s nothing much to do here, and you have a visitor. Come back when you get lonely out on that ranch of yours again. You know it’s not healthy to be alone so much… .”

Vig held up his hands in defeat and laughed, “All right, all right. But do stop pestering my about my personal life. Otherwise I won’t come around to look at your blocked drains any more.”

She laughed, clearly not impressed by this threat. “But then where would your brownie supply come from?”

Vig tried to look affronted. “I’ll have you know that I am perfectly able to bake my own brownies!”

She laughed again, and made shooing motions. “Yes, yes, of course you are, and off with you now! It’s not as if you have visitors all that often! Better make the most of it!”

Vig laughed, and ushered Orlando out the door. “It seems that we have been dismissed!”

Orlando was frowning, “Should we tell her that I am not your visitor?”

Vig shook his head, still amused, “Nah. She keeps telling me that I am on my own too much, let her think I have some friends …” he winked “…it’ll keep her off my back for a month or so.”

Orlando half considered making a joking reply, but as they made their way down the sidewalk to the car he studied the other man thoughtfully, and finally asked “And are you?”

Vig looked at him, momentarily at a loss: “Am I what?”

“On your own too much.”

Vig shook his head, but looked thoughtful. “Nah. I don’t know. Maybe. Certainly more than other people, but then I like being alone – and I prefer being alone to … well, not to company in general, but definitely to the wrong kind of company.”

Orlando nodded in agreement. “Yeah, I get that … the worst week I ever spent was a week sailing in the Mediterranean – I mean, the sailing was nice, but the people were – difficult. And there’s no way to escape if you’re on a boat.”

Vig nodded, “I can see how that could be … difficult, yes. So, you know, I think I am more a picky person than a loner – though it does mean I frequently am left on my own.”

They had reached the car by now and were standing next to it, talking. Suddenly, Vig grinned at Orlando: “But, you know, since you’re my guest now and I am thus responsible for your entertainment, how about I show you around Sandpoint? Not that there’s all that much to see, but Ernie’s Cafe over there makes a nice lunch, and we could walk a little? The lakeshore walk is quite nice, and they usually clear the snow off of it.”

Orlando nodded, “Sure! It’s the visitorly thing to do, after all!”

Vig grinned at him, and they were off.

\-----

The day had been lovely, Orlando thought later as he lay in bed in Vig’s house – they’d talked all the way through the walk and lunch, and continued talking over coffee in a café in town, and then they’d gone shopping and cooked dinner together. It had all felt very domestic, and he already had a feeling as if he had known Vig for a lot longer than just 24 hours.

He liked the older man. Vig was intelligent, thoughtful, kind, sometimes very opinionated, and sometimes a little bit eccentric. Okay, maybe more than a little bit eccentric – but in a good way, in a way that Orlando could get used to. And he was a good listener, genuinely interested in Orlando’s opinions, and perfectly willing to agree to disagree when they did not see eye to eye on something. He also was a pretty decent cook, Orlando had found out, and certainly could wear an apron to advantage.

In his previous 32 years of life, Orlando had had relationships with men and women both – none of them had lasted, but gender had never been an issue for him. The individual was what was important, not the precise package he or she came equipped with.

And, he didn’t mind admitting, he certainly found Vig very attractive. He wasn’t someone for one night stands or short-term affairs though, so he’d not made a move … yet. And, well, he was not sure how to read Vig, either. He knew that Vig was interested in him as a person, that much he was clearly able to determine from the other man’s body language, but he had no clear idea if Vig was interested in him as a potential sexual partner. He thought that there might be signs, but he wasn’t sure … and this friendship that was developing between them at such a rapid pace was already too important to Orlando to risk it for some transient sexual gratification.

Vig was definitely nice to look at, though, and making a new friend was a wonderful experience. Orlando rolled over in bed and sighed contentedly. This trip was shaping up nicely, after all … and now if only the mysterious VPM were to contact him it would be perfect. Still, he would not mind if VPM took a day or three about it – that way he’d get to spend more time with Vig, and Orlando definitely wanted to do that.

\-----

Orlando did in fact not hear from VPM on the next day, or on the day after that. He did worry a bit on day two, but overall he was so busy simply enjoying the friendship that was developing between him and Vig that he did not spend too much time being concerned about it. He was able to take care of his business courtesy of the internet connection Vig had provided him with, and no-one at home was missing him. Oh, he had promised to visit his mother and sister over Christmas, but Christmas was still a good three weeks away, so there was plenty of time to get home before then. His assistant, Jeremiah, was able to ship all the orders that came in and to scan in documents for Orlando, and due to the wonders of modern communication they simply had skype conferences instead of in-person ones. It wasn’t ideal, of course, especially with the considerable amount of time difference, but it was a solution that would work perfectly well for a week or two. And since VPM was one of their most successful (and revenue generating) artists, Jeremiah was as keen as Orlando to finally track him down and get the contract renewed.

So both Vig and Orlando spend some of their time apart from each other working – Vig did his work from his office over the barn, and Orlando did his, well, from Vig’s very comfortable living room couch, but they spent the rest of the time together. Orlando was learning more and more about caring for horses, and in the evenings they usually ended up cooking together and then sitting in the living room for hours, talking or reading quietly next to each other.

It was weird how easy it felt, this sudden companionship. Like they had simply slotted into place with each other.

\-----

On the day after that – or, day four of his unexpected but definitely enjoyable stay with Vig, as Orlando mentally labelled them, Vig had to go into town to run some errands and to pick up more groceries, and Orlando elected to stay at the farm and keep working – things were busy in the run-up to Christmas, and there were a couple of letters he really ought to finish writing today, so that Jeremiah could send them out when he came to the office on the day after (time-zone ninja-ing was definitely giving Orlando a headache). He also though he’d treat himself to a walk around Vig’s farm – it had not snowed in the days since his arrival, but because the weather was so crisp and cold none of the snow had melted, and so everything looked like a white wonderland still. For someone mostly used to slushy and grey British winters, the blue sky, bright sunshine and glittering snow were definitely a treat.

So, Orlando took care of his business while Vig was gone, and then amused himself by building snowmen along some of the side of the driveway. He’d always been fond of the Calvin & Hobbes comics, and tried his best to do some of the snowmen depicted in them justice. He got nowhere close, of course, but still hoped that Vig would find some of his more unusual efforts entertaining. He was especially proud of the snow shark that seemed to be circling in on the barn.

But when Vig returned a couple of hours later he seemed troubled and uneasy, and had but a passing comment to spare for Orlando’s snowy efforts.

“Did something happen in town? Bad news?” Orlando finally asked, worried at Vig’s troubled expression and unusual curtness.

Vig shrugged, “No, no, no bad news. Just … a lot of potential complications.”

“Anything I can do to help?” Orlando asked hopefully, wanting to ease his so obviously uneasy friend.

Vig shrugged again, “Not right now. I’ve got some decisions to make, is all.”

Vig rubbed his hands together, and visibly tried to shake himself out of his mood. “So, what have you been up to while I was gone? I see my driveway has been infested by some unusual visitors!”

Orlando grinned, “Well, I did some work, visited with the horses, have no idea what you mean about infestations of any sorts, and pondered dinner options. I think we decided it was my turn to cook tonight, yes? So I’ve been investigating your larder …”

They drifted into the kitchen, still discussing dinner, and Orlando quickly put the episode out of his mind, resolving to try to make Vig laugh tonight, and to keep an eye out for any trouble he might be able to help out with.

\-----

There was no obvious trouble that Orlando could discern, but Vig definitely looked thoughtful, uneasy and absentminded all during the next day, and once or twice Orlando found Vig studying him intensely, a pensive frown on his face. Orlando would smile at Vig in return and Vig would return the smile, but the slight worry line would not ease from his face, and Vig seemed absentminded more and more as the day wore on, took a second or two too long to answer questions or to laugh at a joke. He even became unfriendly and taciturn, though he was always quick to glance apologetically at Orlando, but by the time the evening came around things had definitely become awkward between them – awkward in a way they had never been before, not even during their first encounter.

Orlando went to bed that night feeling profoundly uneasy. He’d thought that they had become friends, had been hoping for more, but now he was wondering if maybe he was overstaying his welcome here. Maybe Vig had befriended him because it was the kind thing to do, with Orlando so obviously at loose ends in a strange town, and now that politeness had become tedious for Vig.

Had Vig not told him that he preferred being alone to being in the wrong company? Maybe Orlando was turning out to be that wrong company, and Vig was just too polite to boot him out the door, but secretly hoping that Orlando would either complete his business here or decide to give up and move on?

Orlando did not sleep well that night at all, but tossed uneasily from side to side, and seriously considered just going home. VPM was not talking to him, it seemed, or not in town, or had any number of mysterious reasons for not wishing to speak to him, and Vig did not seem to want him around any more either. Maybe it was time to go home and look for a more reliable artist, and to learn how to judge the health of friendships better.

\-----

Morning came, and with it more snow. The grey clouds and flurrying flakes matched Orlando’s mood precisely – he felt grey and adrift, unsure of what to do next. Vig, once again, was up and making breakfast, and an uneasy silence fell between them once they’d exchanged their good mornings.

Again, the swift changes in their relationship sprang to Orlando’s mind – they had become close extremely quickly, and were now drifting apart equally quickly it seemed. But whereas the easy closeness had felt natural and welcome to him, this drifting apart felt forced and uncomfortable, like neither one of them wished it to happen, but like they were powerless to prevent it. But there was no mistaking it, Orlando though – Vig was definitely uneasy around him. He kept looking at Orlando, and then away before Orlando could catch his eyes, and was fidgety and taciturn – none of which was behaviour that Orlando had observed in him before the previous day, and all of which seemed to say that Vig wished Orlando to be anywhere but here. And really, what did Orlando know about Vig? Next to nothing really. They were strangers forced to polite conversation, that’s all they were.

Finally Orlando could stand it no longer. He lay down his cutlery next to his half-eaten plate of food, and looked at Vig across the table. Vig seemed to be fascinated by his coffee, but looked up when Orlando addressed him with a rather firm “Vig!”

“Yes?” Vig asked, his eyes again drifting away from Orlando’s. The older man fidgeted in his chair.

Orlando sighed. “I’ve decided to leave today. My plans here are not working out, and I think I’ve taken up too much of your time already.”

Vig’s gaze had swivelled back to Orlando as he had spoken, and the older man looked startled. “But it’s snowing. Who knows what condition the highway will be in.”

Orlando shrugged, feigning nonchalance, though he had been worrying about just that. “I’ll risk it.”

Vig sighed. “I know that I’ve been … awkward around you. I apologize for it. Is that why you are leaving? Would you believe me if I said that my recent black mood had nothing to do with you?”

Orlando frowned at him. “Would it be true?”

Vig sighed again and looked down, defeated. “No. But really, it’s not what you think.”

This incensed Orlando, and he drew back from the table sharply, “How the hell would you know what I think? And really, you just about came out and said that I am at the source of your unhappiness. How much clearer can you get?”

Vig shook his head. “You’re not! It’s just …it’s hard to explain.” He shook his head again, and added “Will you come to my office before you go? I need to get your receipt ready anyway, and I do need to show you something.”

Orlando looked at him sceptical. What was this?

“I know I have no claim to your time, but please. You are free to do whatever you want after that.” Vig shook his head once more, ruefully this time. “Well, of course you are free to do what you want right now, but …” he shrugged, helplessly, his gaze earnest, “… please. Give me half an hour and then come to my office?”

Orlando nodded, reluctantly. “All right. I need some time to pack, after all. I’ll see you in 30 minutes.”

\-----

It was a decidedly uneasy Orlando who made his way up the staircase behind the barn half an hour later. The snow had stopped falling, so the roads should not be too bad, after all – something to be grateful for, at any rate – but he still hoped that whatever it was that had come between himself and Vig could be worked out somehow. He liked the older man, and would not want to leave with this awkwardness between them. If he left now, he doubted they would ever speak again.

There was no reply when he knocked on the door. Orlando frowned at it and then knocked again, more loudly. Still no reply. He glanced at his watch. It was cold out here in the open, and he was on time, and this was the place Vig had wanted him to be. He hesitated for a brief moment, then opened the door and stepped inside.

What he saw took his breath away. He seemed to be in some sort of windbreak/hallway that led to a larger room beyond. The small room was empty of furniture of any sort, but the whitewashed walls were hung with paintings and photographs and pieces of writing, so that there was hardly any space left where the wall could shine through, except at floor level and up towards the high ceiling, where it was hard to reach.

Orlando could not have said how he knew it, but he knew without a doubt that this was not how this hallway usually looked, but rather that this had been set up quickly, and for his benefit.

Which, of course, begged the reason why. What was Vig trying to tell him with this?

Well, he thought, he knew something about art and photography, so the best way to figure it out would be to examine what had so carefully – if hastily – been put before him.

Orlando stepped inside and closed the door, and approached a painting hung on the wall before him. He knew this style. It was bold, decisive, unconventional, and beautiful. In fact, he had printed a book of paintings such as these, even though he had not seen this precise painting before. He had printed a book of paintings such as these … .

Orlando startled and took a step back from the wall, as the knowledge suddenly rushed in on him. This was all work by the mysterious VPM, whom he had come to Idaho to find, and who had proven to be so elusive.

… who had not been elusive after all, but in whose house he had been staying for the last four days, all unknowing! Vig was VPM! Vig _had_ to be VPM, for any of this to make sense.

His first reaction was to be furious and to rush into the next room where Orlando was sure Vig was waiting for him, and to angrily demand an explanation, or to just stalk out and leave now, but he checked both impulses.

True, he and Vig had been talking a lot during the first four days of his visit, before things became so inexplicably awkward, but Orlando had never told him why precisely he had come to Sandpoint. And the other man had seemed remarkably uneasy once he’d returned from the city two days ago – where he’d undoubtedly checked his postbox and found Orlando’s note. Was it possible that Vig simply had not realized until then that Orlando had come here to meet VPM?

But then Orlando remembered the circumstances of their meeting – Vig had met him in front of the self-same post office. Had he been waiting for Orlando there? Had he known all along who Orlando was, and been playing with him?

Again, Orlando felt anger rise in him at the thought, and again he controlled it. Vig did not seem the kind of man that enjoyed cruelty or falsehoods. So if he had, in fact, engaged in duplicity, why had he done so? He must have known that it would only lead to trouble in the long run … .

Orlando frowned. Well, the answers were waiting in the next room for him, it seemed. He’d go and see what Vig had to say for himself.

\-----

When Orlando stepped through the door Vig was indeed waiting for him. He was pacing through a rather cluttered office cum studio, but whirled around when he heard Orlando step through the door. They regarded each other silently for a moment, and Vig’s shoulders relaxed a little when he realized that Orlando was not going to start shouting at him, but seemed to be waiting for an explanation.

“It’s Viggo Peter Mortensen. The VPM, I mean,” was how he began his explanation, gesturing awkwardly as he did so.

Orlando merely nodded at this, and so Vig shifted uneasily and went on in a rushed voice: “And, yes, I knew who you were, when we met in town. Or, well, I suspected. How many Brits come to Sandpoint in the middle of December, after all?” he shrugged. “I had planned to introduce myself right then and there, but then it seemed like such a great chance to get to know you without, you know …” he made an expansive gesture that encompassed the room “… business interfering. You wanted to sign a book contract for a whole series of books with me, after all, and I was curious who you, the person, were. It’s … a personal thing for me, relinquishing publication rights to my art. I wanted to know if I could trust you with my vision, my creativity. So I thought I’d take you home, get to know you, and then just tell you the next day.”

He fell silent and studied the rough wooden panelling of the floor, avoiding Orlando’s gaze. Orlando frowned at him.

“Okay.”

Vig looked up. “Okay?”

Orlando nodded. “Yes, so far, okay. I can see the appeal. But why did you not tell me?”

Vig shrugged helplessly and stuck his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “This is where it gets even less logical. I … well, I …” he paused, “ … I liked you far too much.”

Orlando’s frown this time was a lot less conciliatory. “You … liked me too much to tell me the truth?”

“No! No. Of course I – usually – tell people whom I like the truth. It’s just … if I told you, we’d have talked business for a day, and then you’d have gone home. I wanted you to stay, to get to know you better. I liked you. You intrigued me. And then, the longer I stayed silent, and the more you came to mean to me, the more attracted to you I became, the harder it became to tell you what I should have told you from the start. I couldn’t tell you, but I also couldn’t _not_ tell you, but I’d been silent for too long already, and if I told you you would become angry and go, but if I didn’t tell you and you found out then you would become angry and go, as well, and …” he shrugged again, helpless, and fell silent. “Did that make any sense?”

Orlando’s attention was still half caught by the fact that Vig found him attractive, but he had to laugh at that, and was smiling when he replied. “Strangely, yes.”

“So, are you angry with me? Are you going to leave?” Vig asked hesitantly, after a minute of silence.

Orlando took a moment to think about that. Vig found him attractive, Vig liked him, and Vig had not told him the truth because he was strange and eccentric and awkward, and had been unwilling to lose Orlando … and Vig was strange and eccentric and awkward in ways that Orlando found intriguing rather than annoying, and Vig found him attractive and Vig liked him – and that _far too much_ had sounded promising … Orlando felt the last of his anger evaporate, and amusement and excitement replace it.

In the end, what he did was lean against the doorjamb and loosely cross his legs in front of himself, his hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans to mirror Vig, hoping Vig would understand the unspoken message implied by his posture.

“Well, that depends, really… .” He replied musingly, his eyes fixed on Vig’s.

“Oh?” Vig asked. “On what?” He took two steps closer to Orlando, and Orlando had to repress a smirk. It seemed Vig was able to pick up on Orlando’s body language just fine. Still, best to make sure.

“Well,” he drawled, “on any number of things, really.” He raised his hands lazily, ticking points off on his fingers as he spoke:

“Will you talk business with me and see if _Fairhaven_ can in fact run a series of books with your work?”

Vig snorted and took another two steps closer. “Of course. I already said I liked you, didn’t I? And I like your press too. So that’s a non-issue. Next?”

“Will you let me stay here for a couple more days?”

“As long as you like! Any other conditions?” Vig nodded firmly and took another step closer, just one this time, his gaze never leaving Orlando’s. There were only two steps separating them now. Orlando straightened from his slough against the wall, and took one of them.

“Just one, actually” Orlando replied, “Would you be willing to explore this oh so troubling attraction that seems to exist between us? Will you kiss me?”

“Those were two conditions, not one.” Vig replied gruffly. He didn’t seem to mind too much, though, for he took the final step to close the distance between them and did just as Orlando had asked.

\-- The End – and the Beginning --


End file.
